This amazing announcement left the Hardy boys rather at a loss for words.
“He married his wife because of her postage stamp collection!” exclaimed Joe.
“That’s what I said. You’ve heard of the Bender stamp collection, haven’t you?” he demanded.
The boys shook their heads.
“Well, I ain’t a stamp collector and I’ve heard of it. The Bender collection is supposed to be one of the greatest collections of postage stamps in the world. Why, I’ve heard tell that it’s worth thousands and thousands of dollars.”
“And Mrs. Jefferson owned it?”
“Yep. Her name was Mary Bender then, and she inherited it from her father. I got parts of the story from people who knew Mr. Jefferson well. It seems he has always been a collector of antiques and old coins and stamps and things, but one thing he had set his heart on was the Bender stamp collection. But he couldn’t buy it. Either Mr. Bender wouldn’t sell or Elroy Jefferson couldn’t raise the money—but somehow he could never buy them stamps he had set his heart on.”
“So he married Mary Bender?”
“Well, now—maybe he didn’t marry her entirely on account of the stamps. You see, he used to call at the Bender house quite often, trying to get Mr. Bender to sell the stamps, so in that way he met Mary Bender. I’ve no doubt he fell in love with her, but, anyway, they got married, and after Mr. Bender died his daughter got the stamps. So, of course, then Mr. Jefferson got ’em. His wife turned ’em over to him as soon as she inherited them.”
“And then what?” asked Joe, interested.
“Then,” said Amos Grice, with great effect, “the stamps disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“They went.”
“Stolen?”
“Nobody knows. They just went.”
“Haven’t they been found?”
“Never been found from that day to this. Not hide nor hair of them stamps has been seen since.”
“Didn’t they have any clues?” asked Frank. “Were the stamps simply lost?”
“They disappeared,” insisted Amos Grice. “And not only the stamps disappeared. There was one of the Jefferson servants dropped out of sight at the same time.”
“He probably stole the stamps and cleared out,” Frank suggested.
“If he stole ’em, why didn’t he sell ’em? The stamps have never been heard of since they left the Jefferson home. This servant—his name was John Sparewell—could have raised a lot of money by sellin’ the stamps, but the stamps would have turned up sooner or later, because only other stamp collectors would have bought ’em. But of all the rare stamps in that collection, not one has ever been found.”
“That’s a strange yarn,” said Frank.
“You bet it’s a strange yarn. The stamps were all kept on sheets, in a rosewood box. The day John Sparewell walked out of the Jefferson home, the rosewood box disappeared from the safe it was always kept in.”
“Has no one ever heard of Sparewell? Didn’t Mr. Jefferson get the police to look for him?”
“Certainly. But the police never found him. They sent descriptions of this man Sparewell all over the world, but he never turned up. Queerest story I ever did hear. Mary Bender died just a short time after. And ever since the stamps were lost, Elroy Jefferson ain’t been the same.”
Amos Grice wagged his head sadly.
“How many years ago did this happen?” Frank asked.
“Oh, it must be nigh on fifteen or twenty years ago. Guess that explains why you lads never heard of the Bender stamp case, because there was a lot about it in the newspapers at the time. It was a mighty famous case, I can tell you. It seemed to break Elroy Jefferson all up, because that collection was the pride of his heart, and when it disappeared so strangely, he just didn’t seem to take any more interest in anything. What I’ve always said was that if the police could only find this man John Sparewell, they’d find what happened to the stamps.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“Yep. That’s the way I figgered it out. The only trouble was, they never were able to find Sparewell.”
“I wonder why he stole the stamps if he never sold them,” said Joe.
“I guess he was up against it when he tried to sell ’em. He knew that nobody but stamp collectors would buy the collection, and any stamp collector would recognize the Bender collection right away and tell the police. So perhaps he’s never been able to sell them and is waitin’ until Elroy Jefferson dies before he tries to make any money out of it.”
Frank and Joe got up.
“Perhaps that’s what happened,” Frank agreed. “Well, Mr. Grice, we’ve been very much interested in the story, but we must be getting back to the cabin or our chums will think something has happened to us.”
The boys paid for their supplies and then left the store, after saying goodbye to the garrulous old man.
“Come again!” he called after them. “Drop in and have a chat any time you want.”
The Hardy boys went down to their iceboat, packed away the supplies of food they had purchased, and headed back toward the island.
“So that’s the mystery in Elroy Jefferson’s life,” mused Joe.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find the Bender stamp collection for him?” returned Frank.
XII
The Notebook
When the Hardy boys returned to Cabin Island they found Chet and Biff awaiting them hungrily.
“We thought you would never come!” moaned Chet. “Quick—where’s the grub? We have a fire all ready. Now for some breakfast!”
“You didn’t find the stolen supplies, then,” said Frank, bringing in a side of bacon they had bought from Amos Grice.
“No sign of the food at all,” admitted Biff ruefully. “No, I think the chap who stole that food took it away with him.”
“And ate it,” growled Chet, as he poured some ground coffee into the pot.
“We hunted every place we could think of—down in the boathouse, under the trees, all around the cabin—but we didn’t find the grub.”
“All I can say is that he must have been a mighty strong man to pack all that stuff away
